Rob Doyle - Here Are the Young Men

Then the quiver of protest in him died out, like the SOS of a forgotten submarine going down in cold, black waters.

Very clearly, right before the woman on the screen died, it had come to him: he could do this. He could watch this stuff and enjoy it, and no one was going to stop him.

The next day, the images from the snuff movie were still fresh and bloody, superimposing themselves over Kearney’s mundane American reality. That was when the idea surfaced. It was a logical progression, like that which he’d gone through after first watching porno: the viewing, then the wanting to do it for himself.

The woman’s death fascinated him: it was the moment it happened, the precise instant when the life force — whatever it was that made the body move, speak, fear, think, know — when whatever it was that did all that, vanished, was snuffed out. It was there, and then it wasn’t. And when it wasn’t there, all you had was what the woman in the film had become at the end, when the screaming stopped: a heap of meat, an inert sack of mess that was something, but that wasn’t human. It fascinated Kearney. He needed to explore this. He needed to know how it felt.

I visited Rez in hospital only once more. This time I went there on my own. He looked the same as he had the first time; pale, gaunt, wasted — it was a look that suited him. When I entered the ward, one of the other beds was empty.

‘What happened to him?’ I asked, nodding at the wafer of absence under fresh, straight covers, by way of breaking the ice.

Rez shrugged his shoulders, managing to make the gesture look like it cost him worlds of effort. ‘He got out.’

‘What, you mean he’s better?’ I was surprised; Rez’s brother had told me that the man was on his death bed, about to be dragged under by some terminal illness.

‘No, he’s not better. He’s dead.’

‘Oh.’

So much for breaking the ice. The bulk in the third bed shifted and groaned at the mention of death. Maybe in his fever he believed I was the Grim Reaper, come to collect him. I saw his face; a grizzled, ugly man with a terrible complexion and worse teeth. He peered at me with wet-eyed suspicion, then turned over and started coughing.

I looked at Rez in his bed. Lately I’d grown depressed at the thought — which not long ago would have felt exciting — that most of my friends were twisted, volatile outsiders. You started out playing with this stuff — the extremism, the chaos — and it felt vital and exhilarating; but then suddenly you couldn’t control it, you’d gone too far and it wasn’t exciting any more, only frightening.

‘How are ye doin, Rez?’ I asked, exhausted already by being here, but wanting at least to try and fix things.

‘Not bad, considerin I recently tried to commit suicide.’

That was fairly dark, but at least there was a spark of humour in it, something he’d been devoid of last time.

‘My ma’s worried about them lettin me out. She’s afraid I’m goin to do it again.’

‘And are ye?’

He shook his head. ‘No. It was stupid. I can’t believe what I almost did. It terrifies me, especially when I think it was only a fluke that I was found. I wake up sweatin, nearly in panic.’

I wondered if this was the propaganda he was putting out, to lure those around him into a false sense of security while he made another bid for self-annihilation. Rez and what went on in his mind were beyond me. He had drifted out too far, into weird fog: I couldn’t see who he was any more.

‘Why did ye do it, Rez? Is there somethin ye … somethin that happened to ye?’

‘No.’ His voice had hardened; he looked ready to lash out again, tense and defensive. ‘There’s nothin that happened. I just… I’ve just been seein things clearly, too clearly. And not lookin away.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t seem to look away, the same way ordinary people do. And when ye can’t look away it’s impossible to …’ He paused; each word seemed a strain. ‘To keep livin, doin normal things.’

He looked like he was going to continue, but then he exhaled in a huge sigh, exhausted by the effort. I sensed that he wanted me to leave. But now I realized I had a kind of power over him, something I’d never had before. Rez was vulnerable and I wanted to push him, partly out of curiosity, but also for some other, shadowy reason that wasn’t clear to me.

‘What do ye mean, though?’ I said. ‘I mean, what is it ye say ye see about the world that makes ye want to, to go and do what ye did?’

He watched me for a few long moments, making me feel like a faecal germ under a microscope. Then he said, ‘You, for instance.’

I waited.

‘Me?’ I said eventually.

‘Yeah. You, the way ye are. And you here now, for example. I know what it’s all about. I —’

‘Ye what?’ I snapped. ‘Ye know what about me? Ye always think ye fuckin know about me, and about everyone. What do ye know?’

I was suddenly sick of how everything he said, even every look he gave, was one of accusation.

He said, ‘You’re enjoyin it, seein me here like this. It doesn’t really make ye feel anything to know that I was miserable enough to try and hang meself. All ye really feel is the buzz of it, the drama. I don’t even blame ye.’

‘Here we go again,’ I sneered. ‘This same old shit.’ I shook my head, exhaled in irritation, and shifted like I was about to get up and leave.

‘It’s true, though. Even now, the way you’re pressin me for information, it’s just cos ye want a bit of a buzz from hearin me.’

I looked away. I felt exposed. I tried pleading, hoping for a truce. ‘Look,’ I said in a softer tone. ‘I know it’s true that there are horrible, really fuckin horrible things out there in the world. But it’s not all bad, there are some good things as well that ye don’t have to analyse. Ye have to take things more at face value, not just see the, the ulterior motives all the time.’

‘But I can’t!’ It came out as a terrible screech. His eyes were frantic, like he was looking out at me from a burning room. ‘I can’t, Matthew. I don’t know how to. I really don’t. I just can’t turn me mind off. I don’t know how to walk down a fuckin street any more. I can’t even sit on a bus without thinkin about it from a million different angles at the same time. I keep seein the reasons behind things, why people do what they do. It’s horrible, it’s fuckin shameful. I’m fuckin ashamed of meself. I don’t know what to do.’

The medication seemed to have lost all effect, if he was even still taking it. He was definitely not tranquilized, not sedated — he looked like the only thing he wanted now was to try again to kill himself and this time get it right.

‘I know, Rez, it’s bad, I know. But there’s more to it than that, there are some good, valuable things …’ I said this even more softly, trying to put some warmth and emotion into it. But the words floated from my mouth like feeble things, dying on the air. I hated Rez for hearing my useless words and knowing they were useless. I hated him for seeing everything so clearly, especially me. I met his gaze, just as the furtive thought escaped, like noxious gas from the bowels, that it would be better for everyone if he did kill himself. People who saw the truth all the time, and insisted on telling you about it, were no good for anyone.

‘Oh Jesus,’ he whimpered, as if he’d heard my thought.

I closed my eyes and directed them away from Rez’s locked stare before opening them again.

‘I’ll see ye, Rez,’ I said, standing up.

He didn’t answer. Still avoiding his eyes, I pulled up my hood and left the room.

‘Wait,’ I heard him croak as I stepped out the door, letting it close behind me.